


Landscape and Memory

by mimarie



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-17
Updated: 2009-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimarie/pseuds/mimarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen broke Jack's rule about not taking alien tech away from the Hub without permission after he introduced her to the firing range. She got what she wanted that night, but only because Daf and Karen fell out. What if they hadn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landscape and Memory

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **spoilers:** Ghost Machine   
> **beta:** [](http://aeshna-uk.livejournal.com/profile)[**aeshna_uk**](http://aeshna-uk.livejournal.com/). Anything that doesn't make sense is entirely my own fault.  
>  **disclaimer:** I own nothing but the happy space between my ears.

  
Afterwards, with the alien machine resting safely in her lap and the knot in her gut finally unravelling, Gwen sat for a while, smiling as her revisited memories sparked others into life. Roses and daffodils filling the sink, heart-shaped balloons tied together with a scrap of lace that only fit if she didn't breathe, warm arms and a strong body; right there, christening the new sofa. And on the kitchen cabinet. And against the washing machine...  
 _I'm basking,_ she thought, and laughed, leaving the machine on the sofa to follow the last image as far as the kitchen before her stomach took over, demanding she eat, and then starting to churn again as she scrubbed the scents of the Hub, of gun-metal and unreality off her hands, the hum of the microwave accompanying an off-key attempt at _It's Not Unusual_ that finished with a _ping_ and a flourish of blue-and-white checked tea towel.  
She watched TV while she ate, the last of the shepherd's pie going down with the encouragement of a glass of red wine, filling her up as she flicked through channels, ignoring the phone as resolutely as it ignored her.  
After dinner, she washed up, washed the surfaces down, cleaned the sink, wiped the oven, embracing her domesticity to the extent that she even put her whites on to wash - but by the time she'd finished, Rhys still hadn't come home. She hadn't really expected he would. He hadn't rung again either though, and that wasn't like him. Although if he was winning at poker then Daf must be _really_ pissed, which meant that Rhys wasn't far behind. Too pissed to drive, certainly, let alone to grovel sufficiently for her to give him a lift. And they were bound to argue about the fare if he took a taxi, so...  
It was probably best. He'd be back in the morning, a make-me-breakfast grin plastered over his hangover - and that was fine, because the alien machine - Tosh's fabulous quantum transducer - had shown her everything she needed to get her head out of the firing range and back where it was supposed to be. Everything she needed - really - to stop thinking about Jack's hands on her stomach and his breath on her throat, the long, hard body held rigid behind her as he gripped her hand, the way the recoil pressed her harder against him and he murmured approval, chuckling softly into her shoulder - the look on his face when she'd asked him that stupid bloody question...  
She swore and stuffed the machine back in her bag, throwing it down on the sofa and heading for the loo. Could she imagine anything worse than spending every night wide awake and alone? Not that Jack would be alone, surely. But he couldn't take anyone back to the Hub, so at least if he was off somewhere being... not alone, then she could tell herself she was just being stupid, drop the machine off and get out again with no one any the wiser. And if he was there...  
Finding her shoes took a couple more minutes, and then she had to go to the loo again, but by the time she was ready the phone still hadn't rung. She pulled a face at it, folding her jacket over the tell-tale bulge of the alien machine as she closed and locked the door.  
Sod it. Just _sod_ it. If Rhys could go out and get pissed with his mates because she needed to work late, then she could spend a few hours with Jack. And so what if he _was_ her boss? She'd been right there while he told her how he lived. She'd listened while he as good as told her how lonely he was, waiting for her to say something, to offer to talk or to listen - something, anyway - and she'd just walked away.  
She'd been so selfish. She hadn't thought about anything past her own need for reassurance, for space to breathe - for _stability..._  
It wasn't a good thought, but it was a relief. It made sense. More sense than anything else did, anyway. No wonder she'd been feeling so guilty.

  
*

Once the siren had faded under the grind of the cog-door, the silence hit. It was huge, filled with towering echoes that stalked her through the cage and down the steps into the Hub proper, reminding her of the first time she'd been there. That first, incredible day when all she'd known for sure was that, whatever it was she'd found, she hadn't solved anything. That for all her chasing about, she'd only managed to discover more things that she didn't understand.  
Like Jack, for instance.  
She shook her head, a calming lungful of the familiar stone-and-water scented air bearing traces of tomato and spices and the dark smell she would have simply called 'burnt coffee' a fortnight before, but that she now knew to be Java Sumatra (black, one sugar). And that was something, because whatever else he was, Jack was at least human enough to need to eat and drink. Unless he only did it because he enjoyed it? He certainly talked enough about what _else_ he enjoyed; enough to make her glad of the klaxon, because the thought of catching him in the act...  
Another shake and she turned slowly, echoes carrying her _"Hello, Jack?"_ up to trouble the sleeping pterosaur, her sigh lost in the reflected confusion of footsteps as she headed further in. He'd been wrong when he said she'd never get tired of following him. Of course he was. But how anyone could be content with simply looking at the surface - however attractive it was. How they could stop themselves from trying to get under that (disgustingly clear) skin of his - even to the extent of having to ask the newbie's opinion as to which way he swung...  
Whichever it was, he was doing it somewhere else tonight. He wasn't in his office, or the boardroom - the lights weren't on, there was no one home - or even stretched out on the sofa, although it looked like he'd eaten there from the cartons and cups. Maybe he'd been lying and he'd gone to bed; he must sleep sometime, surely? She didn't know, but a glance at her watch was enough to make her yawn as she made herself move, blinking in the glare of the overhead lights and reaching into her bag as she stepped up to Toshiko's spare workstation, feeling a twinge of envy for the neat piles of resistors or transistors or whatever they were. It had to be easier, working with _things_ , didn't it? Dull but simple - in a complicated kind of way, but all the same...  
The thought made her laugh, her keys jangling as she untangled the alien machine from her bag. Who was she kidding? She'd claw her eyes out after half a day of whatever it was Tosh did. As for Jack... He wasn't there, and she wasn't disappointed. Why would she be? It made everything easier, because she'd only have said something stupid about earlier, and then he'd have said -  
No. She shook her head. She didn't know and she didn't want to. She'd just put the stupid thing back and go home. Get some sleep and forget about whatever it was she'd imagined he might want to say to her, because -  
"Gwen?"  
The voice came from behind her. When she turned it was to find Jack in the door of his office, his shirt open and his braces hanging loose, cradling his favourite mug in both hands.  
"Something up?" he said.  
She'd checked in the office, hadn't she? She was _sure_ she had.  
"No. Not really..." She smiled at him, making a mental note to add _'special abilities: stealth-mode?'_ to her (ever-growing, never to be asked) list of questions as she leaned back on one hand, the other hunting for a clear spot on the table. The machine wasn't playing nice though, settling against the noisiest heap of circuits it could find, the rattle bringing Jack closer, setting his mug on Owen's desk as he passed, his smile twisting into something too knowing for comfort as he halted in front of her. Close enough to see over her shoulder to the scatter of plastic beyond.  
He leaned, reaching out, and she braced herself, waiting for the explosion.  
It didn't come.  
"I've been looking for this since you left," he said, waiting until she nodded before his raised eyebrow dropped back into place. "When I couldn't find it I figured you'd taken it, but..." He sighed. "I'm disappointed. I thought _you'd_ understand. _You_ know what it does."  
"Memories, emotions... look, Jack, I'm -"  
"Stupid? Working on a death-wish?"  
" _No_. Of course not. I just... needed to remember something, that's all."  
"Did it work?"  
"Kind of." She shrugged, hoping-not-hoping that the action would push him back and away, and then thought _sod it_ and straightened, wishing - briefly - that she'd worn heels so she could at least look him in the eye. "It was a mistake," she said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken it, and I shouldn't have come back either. I just... I was alone and I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe you'd like someone to talk to, and..."  
"And you thought you'd sneak this back in without anyone noticing." Jack shook his head, his gaze refusing to release her as he stepped back, the odd, comma-like body of the machine fitted perfectly to his hand.  
"Yeah. Well..." She couldn't argue. If she argued he might want to know what was important enough to break the rules for, and even being told off was better than having to tell him _that_. Just so long as he didn't sack her, anyway. "I said I'm sorry, Jack, and I am. It won't happen again, I promise."  
"And what's that worth?"  
"I..." She couldn't say it. _I only took it to try and get you out of my head_ might actually have been the best excuse she'd ever had, but there was no way she was using it. "I just..."  
"You just what?"  
His stare was beginning to get to her. She couldn't look away and she couldn't think around it, couldn't read it, couldn't see anything past his eyes; the careful blank of his expression somehow worse than the disdain it replaced. First the meteor and now this. Had she ever managed to screw a job up so fast and so badly?  
"I've never fired a gun before," she said, and then had to swallow, feeling sick. "Never even held one, and I needed to remind myself what it was all about. Why I joined the police. It's just all so weird, and... And I really am sorry, but it's late now, and I've got to be back here in a few hours, so..."  
"Yeah?" He nodded. "Yeah, well..."  
"So I should go."  
"Right." Another nod and then he shrugged. "I thought you wanted to talk," he said, "or was that just an excuse?"  
" _No_. I mean, I did. I mean, I thought you might... It doesn't matter."  
"No?" Another shrug. "Okay then. See you in the morning."  
"Right," she said, cracking a half-hearted excuse for a smile as she turned away. There was no way to explain without actually explaining, so what was the point?  
"But since you're here..." He hadn't moved when she looked back, still turning the machine in his hands, a thoughtful frown replacing the guarded stare. "If it's bothering you enough to keep you awake," he said, "then we ought to do something about it."  
"We did?"  
"I know being shot at - or nearly - isn't much fun, but I need you to be able to handle a weapon."  
"Oh. Well, _that.._." She dragged the smile wider, trying not to remember the bullet hole closing in his forehead as she watched him frown. "It's all right," she said. "I'm fine. I had a good long think and I'm on top of it now. I know I need to practice but I'll get used to it. It won't be a problem. And I'm fine, really."  
"Yeah?" He nodded, coming closer. "Well, that's good." Another nod, another step closer and then he smiled. "So anyway, you never said, what was it you thought we could talk about?"  
"I don't know." He laughed at that, and she could feel her face colouring, unable not to smile back at him. That was it, she was going - now. Just as soon as she could look away, anyway; the stare had _nothing_ on the smile. "You, maybe. After earlier I thought you might... you know, if you wanted."  
"Me?" Both eyebrows rose this time and then he shrugged. "I'm okay. Better since I know you haven't blown yourself up or anything, but..." He stopped, looking from her to the machine in his hand and back again. "Did I tell you I'd been looking for this?" he said eventually. "I figure I had pretty much the same idea you did. Take a step back, get things in perspective... No harm in having a look at my own memories, and besides, a little hindsight goes a long way, y'know? And now I know it helped you focus, so..."  
"No," she agreed, "I mean, yeah. And you _are_ the boss, so... I mean... well... what was it you wanted to see?" The question was out before she could stop it, the blush following inexorably as she added a muttered "sorry," and shook her head. "I'm being a nosey cow," she said. "It's late, I should leave you to it. Get some sleep before morning, and then I... oh _bugger_." And then maybe if she put her other foot in her mouth too she'd still be able to bounce home on her arse and maybe _then_ she'd stop babbling. "Look," she said, "you just ignore me and I'll go away, all right?"  
"Yeah?" He tilted his head, looking at her thoughtfully. "You don't want to see for yourself then?"  
"Oh," she said. "Well..." And then he was smiling again, and really, she'd come all this way in the middle of the night, so... "What is it?"  
He didn't answer, still smiling as he beckoned, turning away.  
"Jack? What is it?"  
"This way."  
"Where are we going?"  
"You'll know when we get there."  
"But -"  
"It's your choice." He shrugged, still walking. "You can let yourself out, can't you?"  
"Jack -"  
But he was gone. And the choice was no choice at all.  
She followed him.

*

It was brighter in the tunnel than she remembered. Cut-out Weevils hazing ghost-like into the distance as she blinked, Jack's awkward smile was as disconcerting as his choice of venue, his casual lean on the zinc-topped table too studied to be less than a pose.  
"So," he said, "here we are again."  
"Here we are," she agreed, hoping her smile was on straight. "So, what's happened down here? Apart from shooting cardboard aliens, I mean. Weevils, and whatever those tentacly things are in the back row. Are those real? We don't get many of them in Cardiff, do we?" She closed her eyes, but he was still looking at her when she opened them again, still smiling - and if she didn't say something in a minute then he would, and then... "I mean," she said, swallowing, "there's nothing to see down here, is there? There must be better places than this. Lots of room for memories in a place the size of the Hub. There's just people shooting things down here. What's there to see?"  
"I told you." Jack straightened, pushing away from the table to step closer, proximity drowning the last of her voice. "Hindsight. Maybe even a little perspective. We're going to be working together for quite a while, I hope, so maybe if we do this now..." And then he reached out and pulled her towards him, circling behind her as if they were about to tango, one arm going around her waist as the other skated over her ribs to rise in front of her, the machine clutched firmly in his hand. "Remember this?"  
He wasn't serious. He _couldn't_ be serious.  
"Look," she said. "Jack -"  
"Here you go." He wouldn't move, his arms merely tightening when she tried to unwind herself from them. She tried again, but by then he was holding her hands tight around the unit, their thumbs side by side on the button, the pressure of his arms around her growing fainter as the scent of discharged weapons grew stronger.  
It was just like before, at the station. She was everywhere and nowhere, she - she and he; frozen together, unmoving - could see it all. Could _feel_ it. The tremor that ran through the woman holding the gun as the man behind her stepped closer. Her eyes closing, mouth open as he touched her hip, her stomach; tipping her pelvis back to meet his; pressing forward against her backward motion. They could feel the way his fingers curled around her hand, holding her steady; the tingle under her skin and the lump in her throat; his head tilting to sight along her arm; his thrill - pride - as she raised her arms, whooping in delight - the pure simplicity of his lust tangled in such a depth of loss and like and longing that as she started to leave and then stopped, nervous but determined not to show it, turning to smile at him, her face flushed, curiosity overcoming the need to leave before she said or did something she'd have to regret - that as she turned back to face him, in that moment wanting nothing more than to _know_ him...  
" _Doesn't it get lonely at night?_ " she said, and the embarrassment curdled inside her again, held down, held in place by the arms around her.  
 _Doesn't it get lonely at night?_  
Jack didn't speak: the reality behind her couldn't and the memory in front didn't need to. She - _they_ could feel what he felt, feel the appetite curling inside him, the faint, almost reluctant buzz of anticipation and hope stilling his tongue, his need to hear her finish the thought so urgent it lapped at their knees, still washing warm and wet up shivering thighs as they watched her say her goodnights and walk away, her too-straight back strung taut in retreat, a confusion of guilt and relief pulling her onwards, unlooked-for longing splintering against the man left behind.  
He didn't move. He just stood, watching where she'd gone until her footsteps faded. Then he sighed, resignation settling over him like a second skin as he started to gather up the guns and scattered ammunition, the warmth of a recent touch fading to steel and ice, fading to black as the soft burr of energy at their fingertips changed pitch, fading to nothing, fading away.  
And then they were alone. Together; alone.  
The tunnel seemed darker with only them in it, the arc-lights paler and hotter, melting their shadows until they ran together, oozing away into the silence between the badly-cut feet of cardboard Weevils.  
Gwen swallowed a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting a shiver as Jack's grip tightened; gripping tighter in turn, feeling his chest rise behind her, his sigh warm on her throat.  
He knew exactly what she'd been running away from. There was no point denying it, even to herself. He was feeling it too, and he _knew_.  
The thought heated her face, a tremor of tension unravelling the length of her spine: Jack knew. And she could stay or she could go - and she _should_ go; take her guilt home to bed, or to wait up for Rhys - but that wouldn't stop Jack knowing. And she should _go_ ; but then Jack would be alone. He'd be alone and so would she, and he'd know that she knew...  
She counted five breaths before Jack's hold on her loosened, another five before he spoke.  
"Well," he said, "well..."  
"Yeah, well." She swallowed again, took another deep breath. Held it. "I should probably go," she said. "Jack -"  
"Yeah," he said, "you probably should."  
He didn't let go though, and neither did she.


End file.
